


Memory Box

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Season/Series 12, Spoilers for 12.08 “Lotus”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-25 03:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Sam’s powers return while he’s locked-up in solitary for six weeks. He uses them to communicate with Dean. They have a lot of time to practice, a lot of things left unsaid actually get said through the unusual method Sam comes up with. All that and an escape plan too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. This is an AU to what happens post-episode 12.08. Written for the 2018 [SamWinchester-bigbang](http://samwinchesterbigbang.tumblr.com). Spoilers for 12.08 “Lotus”  
> Be sure to check out Winchesterchola's amazing art masterpost on [tumblr here](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/tagged/memory-box) or on [dreamwidth here](https://winchesterchola.dreamwidth.org/455.html).  
> 

  
Be sure to check out Winchesterchola's amazing art masterpost on [tumblr here](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/tagged/memory-box) or on [dreamwidth here](https://winchesterchola.dreamwidth.org/455.html).  
  
  


~~**~~

It’s getting hard to tell whether this is real or not because the cell reminds him of some of the scenarios Lucifer would create for him in the Cage. The walls thick, impenetrable, impossible to scale or alter in any way. No activity—no interaction—no contact for days, weeks, years, he couldn’t tell…he can’t tell. There wasn’t light—there wasn’t sound, except his own voice and even that he didn’t believe was real after a while. At least in this prison cell in the here and now ( _it’s now, it’s happening_ is a constant chant he keeps going in his head at all times) there is occasional interaction when they try to get him to confess to plotting to murder the POTUS.

Sam laughs remembering how Dean had called him the LOTUS which was remarkably witty for his brother.

_Sigh._

His brother who he misses more than his own freedom, it would be bearable being locked up if only he could see Dean once in a while. The desperation he begins to feel is like coming down off demon blood, a craving so deep in his bones that he feels ready to shatter into uncountable shards. Dean is his glue, he keeps him stuck here in reality, keeps him together, gives him a reason to carry on and he wants—Oh how he wants to talk to Dean. To hear his voice, his noises that never stop until he’s so annoyed he’d be so grateful for any little slice of that kind of interaction. Or a shoulder bump, a hand on his knee, a shove through a doorway, all those incidental contacts he’s always stored up and treasured. Keeping them filed away in a secret box in his heart that he shamelessly rifles through now.

His secret box is filled with all the ways he’s had that contact with Dean, physical real contact, whether it’s fists in anger, or a welcome-back-to-life hug it’s remembered, cataloged, stored. So useful now when there’s nothing new to add to the box. A highlight reel plays in Sam’s mind, unbidden: today we’ll watch all the hugs I’ve ever gotten from Dean. Followed up with a short reel of all the times I’ve been unable to stop myself from hugging Dean. You’d think this would get boring but it doesn’t, it’s something Sam’s always done, his whole life. Greedy for any little bit of his brother’s attention even though he’s almost always had one hundred percent of it.

When they’d gotten a little older and Dean had started dating or hitting on girls as he’d brag, it got so much harder to keep hidden. Because Sam would have that contrast between how he saw Dean touch the girls (oh yes of course he watched that very closely) and how he’d craved a chance to get to feel that touch himself. Jealousy burning a hole through him, creating the space where the secret box belonged now. It was part of his internal organs, his system, fed with the demon blood he’d consumed as a baby and as a man, and also fed by the life he’d led with Dean.

The angels and demons that had taken up temporary residence in him had always remarked on it, using it as some sort of ultimate threat which it really, kind of sort of—was.

“Interesting furniture you’ve got in here, Sammy-boy,” Meg had said with her killer smirk. “It’d be a damn shame if Dean-o ever got to have a peek for himself in here. Wonder what the hell he’d have to say about it?”

“Tsk, tsk, I’m a little brother too, but this is a bit too far past filial loyalty even for me. Michael, c’mere, you’ve gotta check this collection out,” Lucifer had said. Michael’s answer about Dean having one of his own was something Sam’s told himself he left behind in the Cage, a memory not worth keeping. But it is still is there, niggling with that thread of possibility.

“Moose, I knew you were probably a hoarder, but this is ridiculous,” Crowley had said after he’d helped Sam realize he needed to kick Gadreel out. “Dean would not be as surprised as you’d think.”

“Sam, I can see how this box works to keep you alive. It is an amazing accomplishment. I am currently reordering your inner workings so that this secret box is even more integrated into your system. You will need it even more once I am no longer in residence,” Gadreel had said.

Of course, back in the bunker under his bed was an actual memory box, with his pitiful collection of little hoarded treasures. Lying on his uncomfortable pallet in his lonely prison cell, Sam flipped through each item in that remembered box, his eyes tightly closed, moving his hands as he mimed handling each item, lifting it out of the box, feeling its weight and texture. The newest addition to the box came out first, the retirement home brochure. Oh how he could smell the ink of the heavyweight pages, printed with all those glossy photos showing happy old people in that lovely place. Safe, settled, secure. He heard the pages flutter as he flipped through the brochure.

He even let himself imagine a conversation with Dean about why he’d bothered to keep the thing. What it had made him think and feel as he’d added it to the box.

“The two rockers on the porch, Dean, like you said, remember Harry and Ed and how we weren’t going to end up like them? Your butt is going to be in that rocking chair right next to me, like it or not,” Sam would say.

“Will there be beer at least?” Dean would ask.

“Yeah, Dean, there’ll be beer, I promise,” Sam would answer.

Dean, god he could almost hear his voice in his mind, but it was never as good in his memory as experiencing it in real life, real time. There was something undefinable about being able to see the crinkles at the corners of his brother’s eyes deepen and relax, his expressive eyes flashing with interest or disdain or joy. And his mouth, how many hours of his life had been devoted solely to watching Dean’s mouth?— _not nearly enough._ Singing in the car when he thought Sam was asleep, when Dean would finally give in and read a book in front of him, lips moving over the words, Sam’s eyes unable to lower to his own book.

_Quit it, Sam. I’m at the good part._

_Read it to me, Dean._

_Like out loud?_

_Yeah._

Then he’d gotten to watch, unashamed, falling in love with those lips all over again as they moved over the scene with Smaug in his lair, Bilbo talking his way out of the situation, Dean’s voice amused, his lips quirking with that heart-breaking smile.

Sam played that memory over and over. How the wind had picked up and rustled the big grass all around them and the leaves of the enormous cherry tree they’d been leaned up against, setting all the white petals to flutter through the air, landing on them like the best smelling snowflakes in the world.

Dean had pretended to be annoyed with them, but Sam had seen how captivated he was, how he’d said, “It’s like bein’ in a snow globe Sammy!” Dean had leapt up, pulling Sam with him, to spin around through the cloud of swirling petals. How his brother had laughed, with that free-spirited, uninhibited sound pulling the matching sound right out of his own body. It was the day Dean had finally admitted that Sam was taller than him, and from then on, Sam remembered how Dean had kept finding excuses to measure the difference. In the mirror, back to back, or standing front to front confirming that he was no longer eye to eye with Sam. Making sure Sam wasn’t pulling any tip-toe tricks on him.

Back then, Sam hadn’t understood the emotions coming off of Dean that day. There had been signs of exhilaration, relief, and accomplishment rolling off his brother in an undiluted form that he had been unable to ignore. There were all of those things, because his brother had been so pleased with himself for growing Sam up to that point, nurturing, coddling, encouraging him through his whole life. Putting all his eggs in the basket that was Sam. _Keep Sammy Safe_ had always had the unstated dependent clause, _Grow Sammy Up Right_. And since he was taller, that meant Dean had done it, he’d gotten him there, physical proof of it undeniable. Despite all the odds stacked against them, the deprivation of poverty, parental neglect and constant shuffling between motels and broken-down rentals.

Small town after small town, Dean had made it all bearable, even enjoyable a lot of the time, and that was how Sam had managed to thrive. It wasn’t something John had ever recognized or praised, and Sam had certainly resented it at the time. Especially when Dean couldn’t seem to settle on whether to be pissy, chuffed or just relieved. Sam hadn’t understood it, that almost parental pride that Dean had felt, but he thought now that he got it a little better. That he owed his brother his eternal thanks, and now that he was really spending this time thinking about it, maybe it was something he should say out loud to Dean at some point.

Actually Talking with a capital T to Dean, whether speaking his mind or expressing what was in his heart was always a delicate dance for Sam. Walking that tightrope of revealing too much of himself, his true feelings or wants or desires or shutting it down completely. Because Dean wouldn’t stand for that, being shut out, he wouldn’t let Sam get away with that for long. When they were teenagers Dean had seemed greedy for as much of Sam as he could get, especially now that Sam looked back on that time. Back then it had come off as smothering, but logically it made sense. Dean had been a quasi-parent struggling through separating from his child. That they still were together after all the craziness, that was the biggest blessing in Sam’s life. He prayed to God, to any angel listening, even Amara herself to let him have another moment with Dean so he could finally just tell him that. To his face. He wanted to see Dean hear his words, see Dean accept his thanks, unspoken for far too many years.

He slept despite himself, yellow-tinted dreams of Dumbo not needing a feather to fly and sitting by a fire, side by side with his brother. Shoulders pressed together as they sat in silence staring into the flames. Dean handed him a beer and watched him drink it. Sam started to speak, started to say his thank you, but Dean interrupted him before he could say anything.

“I already know. But if you want to say it out loud, I’ll listen. I’ll always listen to you, Sammy.”

Sam woke up, glad to have tears in his eyes because they were real and warm and salty, dripping into his mouth when he sat up against the cement wall. He closed his eyes tight and pictured the scene from his dream and said the words out loud in his empty cell. “Thank you, for everything, Dean. I wouldn’t have had much of a life without you. Never would have been so tall, or gotten into college or lived through all those hunts. It’s all because of you, and how much you gave of yourself. I’ll always be grateful. Always, Dean.”

The words he’d just spoken seem to hang in the still air in his cell, just barely visible, a short paragraph of something so obvious, but still so vital to be said out loud. Sam wished with everything he had that Dean could hear this somehow. He visualized the words turning into miniature arrows, flying through the cell walls until they found his brother wherever he was, piercing his heart with this truth.

Without a sound, the words all darted off, leaving small holes in the cement wall. Sam ran his fingers over the holes, feeling each one, wondering if this was when the crazy came crashing back down on him, familiar as an old raincoat brought out every rainy season. He picked at the wall with a screw he’d taken out of the bed frame, enlarging one of the holes nearest the bed. The cement flaked away easily because of the hole the word-arrow had left behind. Sam gathered the bits of cement in the palm of his hand, made a fist and held them tightly, counting to thirty. He opened his hand and brushed the cement pieces onto his bed and ran his fingers over the small dents they’d left behind. That could be hallucinated, definitely.

He used the sharpest pieces of cement to draw blood from his hand, drawing with it on the wall one of the summoning sigils he remembered, hoping it would call to Cas somehow. That was when the door to his cell banged open, the guards had him locked down on the ground and he couldn’t see what they were doing, but he heard scrubbing sounds and smelled bleach cleaner. One of the guards wiped the cut he’d made with alcohol and slapped a bandaid on it. The guards left and Sam sat on the floor, wondering at the whole thing. He hadn’t been touched in so long his body vibrated with the feeling of their hands on his body. It hadn’t felt good, but at least it felt like something.

The bandaid was proof right? The smell of the cleaner, the wetness of the wall, the clean patch where he’d drawn with his blood. That meant the word-arrows were a real thing, that he had made them somehow. Which meant…what the hell did it mean?

It didn’t feel like it was anything new, that was the thing. It felt familiar…because it was. His powers were back (or maybe they’d never really left him). After all these years he could feel that open spot inside of himself where they’d always been missing was filled again and humming with that white hot _usemenowusemenowusemenowusemenow_ energy.

He put himself back in the state of mind he’d been in before he’d been so rudely interrupted by the prison guards. Right back into that endless wanting to communicate honestly, truthfully with his brother.

“Dean?” He said out loud—and there the word was, hanging in the air in front of his eyes. Each letter made all the more dear and meaningful because it was real and here. Just as his brother was, somewhere in this place. He thought about the word turning around…and it slowly started to rotate. The first time, his words had turned into arrows to get through the walls to reach his brother, what if this time, this one word became something more useful? The letters began to stretch and twine themselves into a long rope with a very sharp metallic end. They pushed through the larger hole he’d scraped into the wall and he sent them off and—through the walls that separated him from Dean. He could feel it when the rope-word was finally in Dean’s presence, and he reformed the word and question mark in the air for him.

Sam could hear the vibrations of his brother’s voice through the walls. “Sammy!” screamed over and over again, beat against his ear drums, pushed at his skin, sank into his heart with all the desperation that he felt too. Sam could hear the guards running in the hallway, undoubtedly towards his brother. That meant it had really worked, Dean had actually seen it, or at least felt it. He heard a metallic clanging on his own door and it was the tip of the word rope, returning to him as it wormed its way underneath through the small space. It rose up and formed a word for him to read.

It said: _Okay._

Dean was okay, thank all the gods and goddesses, he was okay. And somehow the rope was reporting the word that Dean had either said or thought or wanted him to know. One word at a time wasn’t going to do it for them, even though it was truly a comfort. Sam knew that to have any chance to escape, they needed a plan, and that would take more that a single damn word.

Lunch was served then, the tray crashing through the opening in the wall, quick noisy, in/out/done, so efficient, with an emphasis on absolutely no human contact. Maybe this meal was really breakfast, it was impossible to tell time in the windowless cell, but the food on the tray indicated lunch. There was a sandwich with seeds on the bread. Sam picked his way through eating and brushed the seeds off his lap onto the floor. They bounced and then stopped, rearranging themselves into a word.

_Dean?_ was there on his floor, made out of sesame seeds.

He pushed the seeds into a small pile under the foot of his bed. There were more seeds on his bread at dinner and he gathered them up and added them to the pile. He spent a long time arranging them and rearranging them with the power of his mind into more and more words on his cell floor. The small sound of them scraping across the cement barely a tickle in his ear. After he wrote a sentence, he’d speak out loud the answer and the seeds would reform. He could make the seeds listen. He could do it here pretty easily, where he was close to them, his powers at their strongest, several sentences were possible. But would he be able to send them several cells away to his brother and make them do their thing? All he knew was that he had to at least try.

Even if Dean would no doubt worry about Sam’s powers being back, would maybe even think he was a monster again. Or maybe Dean had always thought that. My brother the monster… _No—don’t go down that path_ , Sam scolded himself, _it won’t help anything now, you’ve wasted enough of your life worrying about it_.

Just last month, Sam had switched phones and he’d made himself listen to all of his saved messages, and there were a whole lot of them, many years worth. It had taken a while, but it was like flipping through a scrapbook of memories, something to do while Dean was working on the Impala and they were between cases. He’d been transferring the messages from phone to phone for many years, he had this habit of saving most of the ones that Dean had ever left him. It had started back the year before he went to college, when he knew there was a chance that he’d get cut off from his family. Or going even darker, that Dean would die on a hunt and he’d have nothing left of him, not even the memory of his voice.

Fortunately he’d only been right about the getting cut off thing, so the saved messages had gotten him through the crushing loneliness of separation when he tried to do the normal college thing. He’d play them when he was lonely or bored or just needed to hear his brother’s voice. All the different ways his brother said his name, sometimes just plain Sam, but most of the time it was Sammy, a clear, distinct choice which meant a million different things. But then there were the times Sammy was said with a drunken slur, the drunk dial calls that Dean never ever mentioned or even apologized for. The ones where he got positively cuddly over the phone, demonstrative, praising, even suggestive. Sam didn’t let himself listen to those too often, but they were there when he needed them.

Sam closed his eyes and pictured himself sitting on his bed in his room in the bunker, like he had been that day, just a few weeks ago, relaxed and just holding his cell phone. He pictured himself as he pressed the play button and could hear Dean’s words come pouring out of the speaker, praising, cajoling, whatever tone Dean used with him, they all ran together in a wash over him. He reveled in all of it, pulling it up around himself as it became a physical comforting blanket of memories and feelings.

It pushed him into remembering all those times they’d come back together after some time apart, how his brother would yank him in for a hug, pulling him down so he could tuck his chin over Sam’s shoulder, locking him in tight like he never wanted to let him go. He could feel Dean with him here in his cell, Sam spread his arms and welcomed his brother into his arms as the phone messages played through his memory, all of them, even that one, the worst one. The one where Dean said he’d hunt him, the one they’d never talked about. The one that Sam had almost deleted, but had always kept, because he needed to remember how bad it could get between them, that his choices about his powers weren’t just about him.

All of the messages played as Sam held Dean in his arms, he wasn’t just imagining it, he was most of the way to experiencing it. He stood crouched down a little to be on Dean’s level, so he could feel the point of his brother’s chin digging into the soft spot between his shoulder and his neck. Just on the edge of painful, but so familiar and so welcome. He smelled what he would smell when he turned his face into the warmth of the soft skin on his brother’s neck. Faint spicy aftershave, salty sweat, and that Dean-ness underneath it all, musky, rough and intoxicating. Sam breathed it in and held it in his lungs, turning the memory of his brother’s voice and smell into something real that could fill him up where he was hungriest. Maybe it was just visualization, but it was working, he felt fuller, more there, more present. And Sam needed to be to get them out of this place.

The door of his cell clanged open and a pair of guards was there, Sam didn’t open his eyes or interrupt his visualization of holding his brother in his arms, he didn’t care that they laughed at him as they gathered up his food tray, the door smashing shut with a boom, the lock clicking  loud and final in the silence. But there wasn’t silence in Sam’s head where Dean was talking like he always did when they held each other, like there wasn’t a way for him not to. Sam had to mark it somehow, keep it separate from the usual, I got you, Sammy. Bring it in here, brother. Getting too tall for this Sasquatch, what are those seeds, Sammy? You gonna cook me some bread or something? Do me a favor and don’t burn down the kitchen this time, okay?

_The seeds._

The guards hadn’t seen them, the small pile that Sam had gathered from the two meals. He called his powers up again and aimed them at the seeds, making them dance out from underneath the bed. They drew out the question he most wanted to ask Dean and sent them out, under the small space beneath the door towards his brother. He held them in his mind, felt the attention of his brother as he read the question they formed, and turned them into a listening field that took Dean’s answer down and brought it back to him. The small scraping sounds of their approach under the door sent a pleased thrill down his spine, he was doing it, it was working. The seeds formed Dean’s answer and Sam smiled to himself as he read it.

_Hell, yes! What’s our plan?_

Sam formed the answer quickly and sent it back to Dean, carefully tracking the seeds progress down the hallway, sticking to where the edge of the cement brick walls met the poured cement floor. There was just enough space where the movement of the seeds would be invisible to anyone in the hallway. The only point where there was risk was when they crossed the threshold of a door. Sam couldn’t see with the seeds, that was going too far for his powers (so far at least, a quiet voice told him deep within)

_When your next meal comes, play dead. I will too_. Sam could feel his brother read the words, could practically hear his snort of laughter.

_Then what?_ was the answer that the seeds brought back to him.

Sam had known that would be Dean’s response, but how to express his intentions so that Dean wouldn’t freak. It was weird enough that they were communicating via animated seeds. Sam decided to try to sound confident, but leave it open-ended. _Follow my lead, they don’t know what I can do_ He left out the part about how Dean didn’t know that either.

The seeds traveled swiftly along the edge of the wall, avoiding any detection by the guards. Sam vibrated with the rush of doing this, sending his will out of his body, making the world react and conform to his wishes. He recalled the heady days of demon blood and revenge which made the seeds speed back to him even faster with Dean’s answer. _I will, Sammy, but be careful okay?_

Sam smiled, at Dean’s worry, of course his brother would be cautious about this. He could read the _this time,_ that was at the end of Dean’s answer, unsaid but still plainly there nonetheless. Going down this road hadn’t ended well for either of them. It had taken a long time for Sam to earn Dean’s trust again. He was going to do it differently this time, he swore to himself he would. The words he sent back to Dean were larger this time, a much bigger font, one that had been bolded, one that Dean couldn’t ignore:  **Don’t worry, I’ve got this, jerk**

Sam could hear Dean’s laughter through the cement walls. _Bitch_ was all that came back. But it was all fond and so very soft, it made Sam want to wrap it up and tuck it into that memory box he’d opened up earlier today. He made a place for it, next to the warm and comforting memories that were already overflowing. There was so much in there, he wished he could share it with Dean somehow, to get him through this.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_How are you doing this? Is it your powers again or something else?_ Dean asked, the underlying worry about the past, Sam could only imagine what Dean’s worst-case scenario would be in this situation.

_It’s my powers again, they’ve always been there._ Sam answered, he knew Dean would’t be able to resist asking the who what how why that would inevitably come to him. And how the hell was he going to answer that, because he didn’t really know. Not for sure, he remembered some of Ruby’s last words, her saying that he was like Dumbo, not needing the feather to fly. The powers were probably from the demon blood he got from Azazel when he was just a baby, he’d always figured that getting it so early, when he was still forming had irrevocably changed him somehow. Sam remembered how he’d felt purified after the trials, but the changes the demon blood made in him weren’t something that had gotten erased or cleansed by the purification of the trials. 

He always had the powers, and he always would. If that fact made him a monster…well, then he’d have to come clean about it. With Dean, as hard as that would be, and maybe, he’d be okay with it now, Dean had changed a lot over the years, Sam had worked on him ever since they’d gotten back on the road together. He’d helped Dean see the shades of gray their father hadn’t ever allowed. The black and white view that would have most likely led to his father (and brother) hunting him. The echo of that one message played through him again though, finding the familiar pathways of dread and guilt. 

_But_ ** _how_** _are they working again?_ Dean came back with, again with the unasked question.

Sam started to get angry, he felt it bubbling up, and couldn’t stop himself from sending back: _I’m not drinking demon blood if that’s what you’re worrying about._

The seeds took a long time to come back, Sam could feel them waiting for a response to bring to him. Finally it came, _No…well, okay, honestly I was, but how then?_

Sam debated with himself, how to explain it to Dean, whether to tell the truth about it, and finally he decided that his brother deserved to hear the plain honest truth since he’d just been unexpectedly honest himself. It was too important to skirt around the edges of it or come up with a stupid story to explain it away. It meant too much. 

_I’m using the memories of us, what they mean to me. What you mean to me._

Dean’s answer didn’t come back for a very long time. Sam started to worry that he had said too much, or lost control of the seeds somehow. But no, they were still there, vibrating slightly, waiting to hear what Dean said, waiting to bring the answer back to Sam. It felt a little like he was awaiting a sentencing in a court, and in a way it was. 

_I hope you know this, but just in case, Sammy, I love you. You mean everything to me._

The words, those words he had always wanted to hear from Dean, well he was reading them now. Sam wished he could take a photo of the seeds shaping those letters, to these monumental words, save it somehow. He wished he knew what Dean really meant. How in the world could Sam ask that of his brother, when they hadn’t been able to have this conversation in all the years they’d been together? Was it really going to be done like this, through fucking seeds in a maximum security prison, not face to face in an anonymous motel room? Sam thought about all the time he and Dean had spent in the Impala, zig-zig-zagging across the country, pointedly not having this particular discussion. So this was how it was finally happening?

Yeah, yeah it was. Because of course, he and Dean couldn’t do anything the normal way, especially when it came to whatever it was between them. When had they ever in their whole lives, right?

Sam took a deep breath, dug deep in his internal memory box, riffled through all those times he’d stored up where he thought Dean had looked at him like _that_ , or had finally been about to say something and then hadn’t. How he’d hoped and even prayed to have the chance to say anything like this out loud to the one person who needed to hear it. With one big burst of energy, he hoped with everything he had that this would work, that Dean would understand and feel even close to the same. All that and that he had enough seeds to make the words legible to his brother. It was hard to know exactly how to put it succinctly enough, but he gave it his best shot and sent the seeds on their way to Dean.

_I love you too, Dean. Probably more than I should, in ways I shouldn’t. But I do._

_Same_ —was the word that came back to him, almost instantly, that one word practically pulsing with need and desire. Sam’s heart swooped with all the feelings he’d been holding in, the seeds left his cell in a rush, an unconscious response, no word appeared in Dean’s cell, just the seeds looping in ecstatic circles around Dean’s head, gently skimming along the dear skin of his cheeks, along his soft lips, tickling and teasing just as Sam had always imagined doing with his lips and hands. Again, Sam could hear Dean’s laughter through the walls and hallways that separated them. And just like that—they weren’t separate anymore, not ever again. 

The seeds came skittering back under his door and danced with shaking joy before forming an emphatic **_Fucking Finally!_**

Sam laughed then, joyous and free, and the seeds laughed with him, before dropping to the floor in an exhausted pile. He flopped back onto his bed, collapsing with the weight of all that this meant and the expended energy it had taken to get all that across to Dean. He needed to regroup and be ready when their dinners were delivered tonight, for what he was planning afterwards. He was going to need it. He hoped Dean would be ready. He hoped his brother wouldn’t judge him too harshly for what he was willing to do to get them out of here. Sam vaguely heard the seeds leaving, and wondered where they were going on their own.

The seeds came back soon, no longer dancing with joy, but stomping and serious somehow. The words they made were just what he needed to hear from Dean at that moment. _Whatever it takes, I don’t care, get us out of here_

Sam could read between the words, the raw need, the crushing desire and his heart swooned all over again with how happy he was that his feelings were returned. _O best beloved_ , he heard in Dean’s voice just as when he’d read the Rudyard Kipling Just So stories over and over again when they were just children. This is how it had always been—was always going to be.

The seeds flew back and forth between their cells, almost as fast as a text message. Their sharp edges being rounded off as they scraped along the cement walls.

_Even if I have to be a monster?_

_Yes, I’ll be one with you_

_You won’t want to hunt me again?_

_What?_

_Back then, when I raised Lucifer, the voicemail you left me_

_I didn’t say I wanted to hunt you, Sammy. I never would say that._

_But it was your voice, I still have it._

There wasn’t a reply for quite a while, Sam had almost given up, thinking that Dean wouldn’t answer, but then there was the tiny sound of the seeds coming back into his cell and arranging themselves into a long sentence that pulsed with sincerity and sadness. _It wasn’t me, Sammy, I said I was wrong for telling you to not come back, that we were still brothers. Nothing about wanting to hunt you._

Sam could hear the words of the voicemail, all of them, Dean’s words, the venom dripping off of them into his ears, soaking into his heart, burning their connection up, every single time he’d listened to that message. Always a reminder that at any point Dean might change his mind, and give up on him again, maybe for good. He wished he could play the message for his brother, so he could hear himself, his own voice, his own words, so he could understand what his words had done to him all these years. How could Dean not remember something like this? 

_Maybe you’re remembering it differently, I’ll play it for you, when we get out and I get my phone back._

_No, I’m telling you, I didn’t say that, no way I could have. I called you from the place Zachariah had me, he must have changed it._

Sam played the voice message over again, one final time in his mind. 

_“Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.”_

He thought about what his brother had just suggested, that Zachariah had changed it somehow. He’d been powerful enough to alter their memories in their shared heaven, so why not a little thing like a voicemail? Certainty that Dean was right, that he was telling the truth about never being able to say those things hit Sam like a lightning bolt, his whole body sizzled with the energy of it sudden and total belief.

_I believe you_ \- was all that Sam was able to reply, he felt the tears start as soon as the words left his cell. All these years, believing that this was something his brother was capable of…it had always made him hold back. But that was over now.

_Good, I’m sorry you ever thought I would say that to you._

_I never wanted to believe it, but it was your voice, and I knew I deserved it_

_No! Stop that please, Sammy, we can’t do this to ourselves again. Especially you._

_You’re right. It’s just hard after all this time._

And it was hard, really hard to remember those days, when he rode next to Dean in the Impala, day in day out, never knowing if this would be the moment that Ruby’s knife would come slicing through the air towards his throat. Always uncertain whether the grudging forgiveness Dean finally offered was just an act to lull him into unawareness. It had been fucking exhausting then, and it was again now just in the act of remembering it. Letting go of all of those worries felt exhilarating and free, Sam lay there on his bunk, sightlessly staring at the ceiling, imagining running along a mountain top through the short brush, whooping with joy at the immenseness of the freedom before him. Dean ran beside him, whooping and leaping, joyful and free as he’d never had a chance to be. It made for a hell of an enjoyable dream. 

****

Sam awoke to the noise of the dinnertime food tray being inserted, the metal flap slamming shut. He remained still and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, hoping that he’d look dead on their monitors. He could smell the food, and his stomach growled, he hadn’t been eating enough in here, too upset to stomach the horrible food they provided. The minutes ticked by, Sam kept a count, it had been at least five now, and he could hear the rumble of the guards’ footsteps. There were two of them, come to check on him, see why he wasn’t eating or reacting to the food at all. Sam was counting on the guards having rules that would make them have to see in person and up close, if he was just playing possum or really had died. 

The noisy lock being turned almost made him flinch, but he managed to control himself. The two guards came into his cell, stood over him for a long thirty seconds without saying a thing. Sam held his breath. This was way easier than when he’d practiced underwater in all those motel swimming pools.

“Think he’s dead?”

“You check, I’ll cover ya.”

The first guard grunted and then leaned down towards Sam, he could feel the heat of the man’s moist breath, smell the onions he’d had on his pastrami sandwich, hear the tinkling of the ring of keys. Before the man could touch him to feel his pulse, Sam pushed at him, he filled the small space between them with command: **Give Me Your Taser.**

Before Sam had a chance to open his eyes, the guard’s taser was in Sam’s right hand. He sat up and shot the other guard in one smooth movement, then he hit the fjrst guard on the back of the head with his own taser gun, knocking him to the floor. Sam leapt up and snagged the first guard’s unfired taser and shot the other as he attempted to get up, holding his head where it bled. Both of the guards lay on the cell floor twitching with the aftereffects of being tased. Sam took their sets of keys, shoved one of the guards under the bed, and told the other one to get on the bed, cover himself up and to be still. He hoped that none of the other guards had been watching the monitor for the last minute and that a body occupying his bed would be a good enough diversion. He had to have enough time to get to Dean.

On the way to Dean’s cell he heard the other guards mobilizing down the hall, and knew that it hadn’t worked and it was probably going to get bad. He hoped Dean kept playing dead and stayed out of it. The first wave of guards was about ten men, all aiming real guns this time instead of tasers. With one wave of his hand, and all the concentration and will he could muster, Sam yanked and pulled all of the bullets out of their guns and clips to him. It was like he’d turned into a bullet magnet for a moment. He got the bullets under control as he had the seeds, and lined them up around Dean’s cell door. Before the guards got to him, he sent a pulse of energy from deep in his core, to explode them all at once, the door to Dean’s was blown to bits.

Through the dust cloud of debris, Dean sat up from the bed and grinned. “Guess I’m not playing dead anymore, huh?”

As they ran out together, Sam used his powers to control the guard’s minds, making them all stop where they were. It was just like he’d seen Ansem do it, all those years ago, the seductive feeling of ultimate power immediately began to creep in, but he roughly pushed it down. He had to concentrate on the here and now, getting he and Dean out of this place, damn the consequences. Sam pushed at all the guards and without a word of protest they handed over all the keys to Dean, and then locked themselves in Dean’s cell. 

Sam couldn’t hear any other guards coming, or movement in the facility. Maybe that had been it? This probably was a small black-site detention facility, with a bare bones staff so it could be kept quiet and off the books. His thoughts were interrupted by the arms wrapping around him, the familiar scent of Dean washing over him, the comfort of being hugged breathless by his brother overwhelming because of its familiarity and how it all meant so much more now that they both knew what they knew. He let himself sink into the hug, wrapping his arms around Dean, almost pulling him up off his feet, their bodies pressed together from head to toe. It was fucking glorious and he didn’t want it to end, but he heard a door slam, the echo resounding through the cavernous hallway.

  
  


“Let’s get our stuff,” Sam said, letting go of Dean, but still feeling the warmth of their hug all through his body. That was definitely another one to store in the ol’ memory box. 

The brothers quickly located the guard station near the only exit and found a pile of their clothes and phones. They unlocked the door and ran outside. The sun was glorious, the air so fresh and they were surrounded on all sides by trees. There was a small parking lot, and one truck began to move, Sam concentrated and pushed at the man’s mind. **_Stop_ **

The truck stopped with a loud screech of the tires. 

Sam and Dean walked over and a man sat in the truck’s driver’s seat, his face blank, hands loosely holding the steering wheel, apparently awaiting Sam’s next instruction.

“Where are we?” Sam asked, still using what he now thought of as the ‘command voice’.

Instead of answering, the man leaned over to the glovebox and took out a map. He unfolded it and pointed.

Dean took the map and began to work out the fastest way out of there.

“Go home and don’t tell anyone about us,” Sam said.

The man nodded, and took off in a cloud of gravel.

“Hey, where’s my Baby, goddamnit!” Dean yelled as the truck disappeared from view, the map flew out of his wildly gesturing hands and Sam caught it before it could hit the ground.

Sam scanned the parking lot while Dean fumed, the Impala wasn’t in the lot with all the other vehicles. “Just hold on, you stay here,” Sam said handing Dean the map. He stalked back inside and roughly pushed and pulled the information out of the guards’ minds, finding out what they had done with the Impala after they’d been loaded into that prisoner transport van. 

They all told him the same story, as far as they knew, the Impala was still there, back on the side of the road where they had been captured all those weeks ago. At least it better be. He took one of the guard’s sets of personal key rings and the brothers grabbed that man’s truck and drove off.

***

After they’d gotten out of sight of the prison, Dean got a little squirrely, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he drove them down the bumpy dirt road. “I’m glad you got us outta there today, Sammy.”

“Why today?” Sam asked, wondering what was up with his brother. He was making that ‘trying to not say the whole truth thing because it was too terrifying’ face. He’d seen that one too many times. He wished he could use the command voice on Dean, but went for the just as lethal little-brother one instead. “Save us all the time and just say it."

The result of all the bared-soul sharing they’d been doing in the prison was that Dean couldn’t retreat into his usual maze of stories and walls. “I was getting close to doing something drastic to get us out.”

“Like what?” Sam asked, dreading the answer, knowing it would be some sort.

“I was going to try and call on Billie, and beg,” Dean said in a rush, like he couldn’t stop himself from saying the words.

“That’s a call you’ve made too often, Dean,” Sam said, stomach turning over with the memory of all their contacts with the reaper. 

“Yeah, no kidding. That’s why I’m glad you got all those messages to me. Gave me enough hope that I didn’t go through with my plan.”

And just like that, there were the messages, all the things they’d said to each other back there, when it had been so dire and they’d felt free to spill out all the truths they’d always held back from each other. Now they were confronted with just how hard to talk about this stuff was when they weren’t under the gun and face to face.

Instead of continuing the conversation, Dean dug his cellphone out of his jacket pocket and dialed Mary to leave a message. Sam listened closely to all the things his brother left out.

“Hey Mom, just letting you know, we got out of the prison they were keeping us in all this time. We’re both okay, and on our way back to the Impala right now. We’ll be taking the long way home, just in case we got followed, so it’ll be a few days before we’re back. Let Cas know for us, he’s too hard to get on the phone. Bye.”

Sam realized that meant they would get several days or even a week on the road together. Time enough for them to work it out, or time enough to screw it up completely. It wasn’t going to be easy, there was no way it could be, not after all this time putting up all the barriers and behaviors between themselves and the truth about how it could be. Sitting there in the passenger seat of an unfamiliar truck, Sam went right back to the comfort of rifling through that internal memory box, reviewing all the newest additions, all the things they’d said and shared through the seeds. His heart warmed back up as he read through them all.

***

Dean pulled the truck over into a shady roadside turnout, parking right behind the Impala and was out and running his hands all over her before Sam even had his seatbelt off. 

“At least they pushed her off the road so she didn’t get towed somewhere,” Dean said as he brushed the dust and dirt off the trunk before opening it. He rustled around in the back, lifting up the false back. “It’s all still here.”

Sam was still lost in his thoughts and memories, maybe using his powers all at once like that had taken more out of him than he’d realized.

“Here, eat some of this,” Dean said, handing him half of an energy bar he’d snagged from their stash in the trunk. Sam chewed on his and swallowed it down, coughing a little because he was suddenly really dry. Dean stepped back to the truck and threw him a full water bottle, Sam caught it and nearly drained the thing. Dean took the bottle back and finished it off, tossing the empty into the back of the truck.

“We just leaving this truck here?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, unless you really feel like driving a stolen vehicle back over several state lines.” 

“Nah, we already have a truck back home,” Sam said, suddenly glad that Dean still wanted him to stick around, wasn’t pushing him to immediately separate, go his own way with his freaky powers and lovesick prison confessions.

***

“I still can’t believe you thought I’d say that,” Dean said, once he was back behind the wheel of the Impala, back in control, in his safe space. He hadn’t started the engine up yet, which meant he really wanted to have this conversation.

Sam put two fingers to the space between his eyebrows and sighed. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and scrolled through all the saved messages, found the one he wanted, and put it on speaker. Dean’s voice, harsh and disgusted filled the space between them. Sam watched as Dean crumpled in on himself. His brother put his head down on the steering wheel, eyes crunched shut, fists white-knuckled on the wheel on either side.

“Dean?” Sam finally asked after several minutes of silence, minutes where he was not sure if Dean was going to sit up and tell him that yep that was him on the message, I forgot about that one, or if something else was going on inside his complicated brother.

“How many times have you listened to that?” Dean asked in a choked-off voice that made Sam’s hair on the back of his neck raise up in alarm. Here it was then.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam scrolled into the info data on messages, and saw the number. It was a lot higher than he’d guessed it should have been, had he really listened to the message one hundred twenty-four times? “One-twenty-four.”

Dean hit his forehead into the steering wheel a few times, not one-hundred-twenty-four times, thank goodness for small favors, and finally sat back, released his fingers from their death-grip on the wheel and stared down at them in his lap like they weren’t attached to him. “I didn’t make that call and say those things to you, but I did think all that stuff back then. The angels or demons or whoever changed it, they didn’t make it up out of nothing.”

“I figured,” Sam said. He’d always known that, deep down somewhere.

“How did you stick around after that though? Hell, how did you even look at me or talk to me again or now?” 

“I—I couldn’t just take off, not after all the things I’d done. I needed to make things right with you. It was the only thing that mattered to me.”

“Didn’t you worry I would kill you?” Dean asked, sounding terrified at even voicing the question.

“Yeah, I kinda did, but I figured…uh, that I would deserve it.”

Dean snorted, grimaced and then rubbed at his chest over his heart. “Of course you would have, god—we’re even more messed-up than I thought,” Dean said.

Sam laughed, and all the small bits of debris from the Impala’s floor raised up and settled on the dash, forming into words. _I love you, Dean_

Dean let out an almost silent gasp of surprise when he read the words and then reached out with one finger and traced the letters of the word love. Sam figured this was it, the hinge point of it all, he’d put himself out there one last time and left it up to Dean to decide.

“You do, even after all that?” Dean asked. Wasn’t it almost unnecessary for him to ask at this point?

“Yeah, especially because of all that, all of it. I mean…it’s always been us, you know?” Sam said.

“I do know, yeah,” Dean said with this faraway sound to his voice that made Sam’s heart stutter for a moment. This wasn’t going how he’d ever imagined it going. No declarations of love and tender kisses exchanged or quick punches upside the head. 

“So, we’re taking the long way home, huh?” Sam asked, breaking the long silence that was becoming uncomfortable. Dean hadn’t done anything, hadn’t started the car, hadn’t looked at Sam. 

“I don’t know how to—“ Dean said, cutting himself off at the last moment. 

It could be anything, mean anything. Get the hell out, or get the hell over here and kiss me because I can’t start things. Sam examined his brother, the way he was holding himself so strangely, almost like he was trying to turn towards him, but was twisting away also. Dean obviously knew what he wanted, but he had to at least try, after all of this, he had to meet Sam halfway.

Sam unbuckled his seat belt and then scooted over to undo Dean’s as well. He met Dean’s eyes and saw the internal war going on, Dean wanted this, he wanted them, Sam knew it, he could see it, could practically taste it, but Dean had to choose. 

“In case you’re still wondering, I want this, Dean.” Sam touched Dean’s cheek and turned his brother’s face towards him so that Dean could see that he really meant it. Sam knew that if Dean saw the truth on his face, Dean wouldn’t be able to hide from this. Not this time. He watched as Dean took it all in, felt the weight of Dean’s head push into his palm where it still lay against his cheek. He took that as a yes and leaned in to brush their lips together.

Soft and warm, plush and wet, Dean’s mouth enveloped his, the gentle tentative brush of their lips immediately gone into something else entirely. Sam felt consumed by it, the desire they both had kept in check all these years was unleashed, like a whole other being in the car between them. It was animating every movement of Dean’s hands that roamed over Sam’s body, under his shirt, tickling up his stomach, teasing at his nipples, brushing at the edge of his underarms where he was sensitive, pressing and massaging up his back. 

Sam broke the kiss finally, gasping for breath, and mouthed his way down the side of Dean’s neck, taking his time, tasting the warm skin along the way, salty and almost too fragrant from all those days in solitary. Dean moaned at the feeling as Sam reached a sensitive spot and nipped the skin lightly. He was overwhelmed with it then, all his senses on overdrive. The debris from the car whirled around their heads, striking him on the cheeks and forehead.

“Tch, Sammy, gotta keep it under control, dude,” Dean murmured into the shell of Sam’s ear. 

Sam shivered as Dean’s warm breath tickled his skin. He focused on keeping his powers inside, not using them, locking them down again, so it was just them.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sam said in a fake scary voice, using his powers one last time to turn the car radio on, tuning in a song that seemed to suit the mood.

“You leave my girl alone, and use them on me then, if you have to,” Dean said.

“So, I’m not a monster now, huh?” Sam asked, using his little-brother challenging voice.

“You’re my kind of monster,” Dean said, pushing him back up against the car door, straddling his hips and cradling Sam’s face in both hands.

“How things change,” Sam said, reveling in Dean taking control, finally taking what he wanted. Sam melted into his brother, offering up everything else they hadn’t already shared.

Dean’s hips began thrusting down into his, a short sharp rhythm that reminded Sam of his brother’s strokes with the whetstone along their machetes. He matched it with upward thrusts of his own hips, gasping when they finally synced together, everything lining up, hard and wanting. It was too good, too fast, frantic, and over too soon. Dean gasping out Sam’s name, clenching his legs so tightly around Sam’s hips he could feel his bones creak with the pressure. 

Sam memorized the look on his brother’s face, lips wet and swollen from their bruising kisses, eyes mostly closed with the weight of the desire between them. Head going back as he shuddered with his climax, Sam’s own name one drawn-out syllable of lust made flesh. Sam came just at the sight of it, it was so unexpected, seeing Dean, holding him in his lap as he came, brought his own climax out of him unbidden, surprising in its suddenness. He tucked his embarrassed red face into Dean’s neck, hiding while he panted.

“We’re going to have to work up a little stamina, eh?” Dean chuckled.

Sam felt Dean’s words rumble through their bodies and barely held back an unhinged giggle. Instead he bit down on the skin beneath his lips, sucking what he hoped would be a beautiful hickey into Dean’s neck.

“Ow—oh, no, god, don’t stop,” Dean said, his voice trailing off into a moan.

He wished he could just write his name there on Dean’s neck, like a proprietary mark that would tell the world: mine, hand’s off. But that wasn’t okay, yet…or was it?  Sam didn’t know how to ask something like that, so instead he just held Dean close, relishing the weight on his lap. “Oh Best Beloved,” he murmured into Dean’s neck over the hickey, pressing the words into his skin with his tongue, not caring if Dean heard his words or not.

“Not that I don’t love being eaten up alive, I think we ought to get down the road a bit more, in case they’re coming after us.”

“You’re right, of course,” Sam said, switching to the other side of Dean’s neck, sucking a matching mark into his skin. Dean squirmed in a most delicious sinuous shimmy on his lap. Then he pushed himself off and back into the driver’s seat. 

“We need to get out of these jumpsuits, I don’t want to try and explain them to a cop, or someone who notices them in a gas station. Be right back,” Dean said.

Soon he was at Sam’s door, holding out a change of clothes. They stripped the jumpsuits off, quick and practical, the only difference between this time and the thousands of other times they’d changed clothes in front of one another is that they let themselves look. And maybe even more importantly, let themselves be seen looking. It was maybe the most intense few seconds of clothes changing Sam had ever experienced. He could feel Dean barely holding himself back from touching. 

“You can touch me, you know,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I know, but once I start…” Dean didn’t finish his thought, just pulled his jeans the rest of the way up and walked back around to the driver’s side door. Sam finished quickly, now that he didn’t have to do two things at once and got back in. It felt better, being in his own clothing.

“Well, hope she starts, it’s been a while,” Dean said, pressing the keys into the starter.

The Impala started right up with her usual throaty rumble. “That’s my girl!” Dean shouted, and with a wild happy grin over at Sam, they were off in a cloud of dust.

***

Dean drove for hours, until they were at least one state away. Sam looked up available motels on his phone and made them a reservation online. When his brother saw the one king-sized bed in their room, the smile he got in return was the only thing he needed, besides a long hot shower. The reason Sam had picked this particular motel was they advertised the fancy showers in their king rooms. ‘ _A shower fit for a king!’_ had been the advertising tagline. He shuffled Dean into the bathroom, and started it up to warm up the space. Their clothes came off easily.

“Wow, this is almost as good as the shower at home,” Dean said with a groan of pleasure.

“All these years, listening to you moaning in the shower, do you have any idea what that did to me?” Sam asked, pressing Dean into the warm tiles behind him.

Dean snaked his arms up through the spray and wrapped them around Sam’s neck.”Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

“I thought one of your safety rules was no shower sex?” Sam asked between gasps of pleasure as Dean stroked him.

“This really count as sex for you?” Dean murmured into Sam’s ear.

“Nuh…not really, I guess,” Sam stammered as Dean increased the speed of his strokes. He struggled to maintain his footing as the rest of his body convulsed, the pleasure crashing over him so suddenly he was left breathless. Dean was still holding him, he wiggled his ass against Dean’s hardness, pleased with himself when he heard Dean moan.

“That’s our cue to get out,” Sam said as the water abruptly began to run cold.

“I’m gonna stay in, I think I need a cold shower,” Dean said.

“I think you need to get out, dry off and get in bed. Now,” Sam said, using a tiny bit of the power in his voice, just so Dean would know he wasn’t kidding.

Dean reached back and shut the water off and wordlessly toweled off, avoiding Sam’s eyes. Sam started to get concerned when Dean still hadn’t said anything, just pulled the covers back on the big bed, and settled himself underneath them, the coverlet pulled up just under his chin. The obvious tent in the bedcovers made Sam want to tease, but he saw the scared expression on Dean’s face.

“We don’t have to do anything else tonight,” Sam said. “I’m not going to make you do anything.”

“You didn’t let me take a cold shower, so…” Dean gestured at the still-tented bedcovers.

Sam rolled over, covering his brother’s body with his own, melding their naked skin together into one hot needy thing. “What do you really want, Dean?”

Dean couldn’t seem to answer, couldn’t interrupt the long moan he’d let out as soon as their bodies had touched. “Just you, Sammy, just you,” Dean finally managed to say.

Sam’s heart swooped and pounded faster at that, it could mean so many things though, but it wasn’t enough to know what Dean needed right then and there. “That’s sweet, but not very specific, want to give you what you need,” Sam said.

Dean wrapped his legs around Sam’s hips, pressing his hard cock up into the hardness of Sam’s abs, rocking back and forth, the friction making Sam chub back up a little. “Need to be inside you.”

Sam leaned down and opened his mouth, taking in Dean’s kiss, inhaling it, tucking it away forever in that memory box, the thing getting more and more full with each passing second. “I was hoping you’d say that. Hang on, let me get the stuff.” Dean released him from his iron leg grip, Sam rolled off and fumbled in one of their bags. He tossed a tube of lube onto the bed next to Dean’s hip. “You want to do the honors or?”

Dean picked up the lube and clicked it open squeezing some out onto his fingers, he rubbed them together to warm it up. 

Sam got back on the bed and straddled Dean again, this time he meant it, this time it was for keeps. A wet finger slowly entered him, too careful and slow, he made an impatient noise and swiveled his hips. “More.”

Dean grinned and pressed in a second finger and asked, “You ever done this?”

“Yeah, but it’s been a while. And it was the other way around,” Sam said, swiveling his hips and pulsing down slowly onto Dean fingers as he scissored him open.

“Really?”

“You really want to talk about our other sexual partners when you have two fingers in my ass, Dean?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Dean said, withdrawing his fingers leaving Sam feeling emptier than he’d ever imagined possible. 

“Don’t be,” Sam said, raising himself up and taking hold of Dean’s cock, he held it steady behind and lowered himself down onto it, letting it fill him, opening himself to make even more room inside than he’d known there was, all the pressure and fullness was too good, he never wanted it to end. 

“God damn, Sammy, this is—“ Dean said, trailing off when Sam began thrusting down hard, taking Dean even deeper inside. 

He swiveled his hips every few thrusts just to hear the noises Dean would let squeak out. He grinned in triumph when Dean clamped his hands on Sam’s hips and held him still, planting his feet on the bed wide, making Sam have to stretch out even wider than he was, then Dean was the one who started thrusting. Sam should have known that his brother would know how to take him apart, but he didn’t think he’d be such a fucking prodigy at fucking, an absolute wizard at it. 

God it was perfect, the heat, the strength, the rock hardness, the power of Dean’s thrusts, all of it sent him into a frenzy of returned thrusts and desperate attempts at kisses. He just wanted some part of Dean in his mouth, he ended up with several fingers, sucking on them desperately as he came, crying out around them pressing into his tongue. 

Sam barely registered being flipped over, Dean lifting his legs around his shoulders, bending him in half as he still kept at it, unstoppable perfection. All the words that had skittered along the prison floors, flown in the air, passed over their lips were erased, blacked out, this was all he wanted and needed, forever.

“Me too, Sammy, me too,” was all Sam remembered before falling into a deliciously dark sleep.

***


	4. Chapter 4

***

The first time they went out for food after checking out of the motel, the diner waitress tried her best to flirt with Sam. But he didn’t even notice until Dean was grabbing his hand and holding it on top of the table where she couldn’t possibly miss it. 

As she left after taking their order with a smile that was bemused and a little confused, Sam leaned over to brush his lips over the shell of Dean’s ear. “Don’t worry, you know it’s only you.”

Dean pressed their knees together under the table in answer and fiddled with the straw wrappers, tying them into a complicated knot. Sam was struck with hesitation, he didn’t know if saying that was too much, or going too far. Maybe Dean wouldn’t want that, to be exclusive or monogamous or whatever, he just hadn’t even thought to ask.

“Wish I had those seeds back,” Dean said, letting go of the wrapper knot and finding his way back to hold Sam’s hand on the table top. “It’s hard to do it all out loud, I don’t know why, it’s stupid.”

Sam used the hand that wasn’t holding Dean’s and snagged a couple of raw sugar packets out of the basket on the table. He ripped the packets open and poured the large brown crystals out onto the white tabletop between them. Before he could second guess himself, he pulled his powers out of where they’d been hiding and set them to work on the sugar crystals. 

_You’re right, it is stupid, but it’s the same for me too._

Dean melted into Sam’s side with a grateful and relieved sigh, the crystals skittered around on the tabletop rearranging themselves into Dean’s answer. 

_I really like being stupid with you._

There was a long moment where Sam didn’t know what to do next, but then it was all clear. This monumental change in things between them hadn’t gone as far as it needed to yet. He had to make sure they were on the same page. 

_I assumed it was just me and you from here on out. Is it different for you?_

_What???_ was Dean’s answer.

Sam sat up straight, separating their bodies, instantly missing the warmth of Dean along his side. But he wanted to see Dean’s face when he read what he was about to write. 

_I want you, just you, to be even more specific, just you and me._

The parade of emotions across Dean’s face covered the whole spectrum from sadness to joy, ending in a beautiful snarky smirk. 

_Duh, me too, of course._

Sam took a risk and snaked an arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him in close. This one had to be said out loud too, to make it more real. He made the sugar crystals move in time, forming the words as he said them softly, directly into Dean’s ear. “I didn’t know for sure. So I had to ask. Didn’t want us starting out with a misunderstanding.”

The flurry of movement between Dean and the sugar crystals was almost too much. Sam was enveloped in a full-on hug, a freaking diner booth hug. He’d never thought that this would be a thing Dean would do. And here he was doing it, in public. Not caring who saw them, or what they would think.

Sam glanced at the sugar crystals on the table spelling it all out, he could feel Dean watching him read what they said, that was why he was surprised to hear Dean say them out loud too. “I love you, Sammy.”

He didn’t bother with the sugar crystals, all of his attention was where it really belonged. “I love you too, Dean.”

They were interrupted in this disgusting yet entirely satisfying love-fest by the waitress returning with their meals. “Hey, do y’all need a rag for the sugar? Oh, ahhh, that’s just adorable. You two, are just too much.” She beamed at them after reading the words spelled out on the table in sugar crystals, evidently over the disappointment of not having a chance with Sam and right on into nosy stranger territory.

***

They took a few more days to get back home, Sam assumed it was both of them wanting to put off the inevitable conversations about how things would be different. He was guessing that it was going to be awkward at first, hiding everything from Mom and Cas, figuring out who slept where. Would Dean still want his own room? Sam hated that idea, wanted to sleep wrapped around Dean every night for the rest of their lives to make up for all those lonely too-close but too-far years. But he didn’t want to scare Dean off with his neediness.

It was all solved when they arrived back in the bunker to a note on the war table from Mary and Cas. 

_We’re glad you’re out of the clink._

_And we’re glad you figured yourselves out too._

_It’s about damn time._

_Love, Mom and Cas._

“Guess Cas must have been spying on us again, he really needs to cut that shit out,” Dean said.

“Wonder how Mom took that news,” Sam said.

“I don’t really care, Sammy,” Dean said. “Now, it’s time to hit the hay, we’ve been in the car too long.”

“Okay, goodnight, Dean,” Sam said, fiddling with the torn duffel bag pocket that he kept meaning to stitch up. He struggled to put Dean’s answer into a place that made sense, did that mean that Dean didn’t care what their mom thought about them being together, or did he not care that they didn’t get a chance to tell her themselves?

Dean’s footsteps faded away down the hall, and Sam’s heart turned several degrees cooler, until he heard him pause. “You comin’ or what?” Dean’s voice had a lovely laugh to it, and Sam’s heart soared, no longer caring how pathetically needy it made him. 

“Be there in a second,” Sam called out, smiling broadly to himself. He paused then, and closed his eyes, silently saying a quick prayer to Chuck or Whoever else might be listening. “Thank you, I swear I won’t take it for granted this time.”

The End


End file.
